from the LP Standing On the Verge of Getting It On, Westbound Records, 1974
“…music is designed to free your funky mind, we have come to help you cope; out, into another reality, you will be, through our music, we bring you hope…” What better mission statement than the above rhyme could one concoct when attempting to sum up the lasting importance of George Clinton’s P-Funk mothership, set to land around this area in about a month, and you better believe my ass will be there! These were Eddie Hazel’s last major song-writing credits with Funkadelic, so it’s a nice twist of fate that the riffs he laid down on this album (and particularly those found here on the title track) happen to smoke harder than a 16 year-old pothead fresh out of rehab; seriously, metal bands even got wet over this shit, it comes so hard. It’s almost unfathomable when you start walking through all the Parliament & Funkadelic albums and come to find yourself confronted with such an amazingly massive glut of top-notch tunes, I don’t hesitate to say that it easily eclipses James Brown’s discography in all-around funkiness, perhaps even equaling his legacy in cultural impact. Long live the Supreme Maggot Ministers of Funkadelia!! Free your mind and your ass will follow…!
from the LP Come Get It!, Motown Records, 1978
“…I’m in love with Mary Jane, she’s my main thing; she makes me feel alright, she makes my heart sing…” Can I get an “amen” for the high?!! I sometimes wonder how different things might look around us if it was 80% of the population smoking grass instead of drinking alcohol---I’m no fool, I know better than to presume that the restorative properties in cannabis alone would be enough to loosen up folks’ minds in the radical ways needed to transform macro-cultural structures like stratification and interpersonal violence (there are plenty of racist, sexist, homophobic idiots that smoke weed), but I still think that a society of tokers might ameliorate certain aspects of their surroundings & rituals, and there’s anecdotal evidence to suggest that there’d be a whole lot more creativity and innovation going on. Been switch-hitting with some Blue Dream and some Headband this morning, roughly my favorite strains of late, and I gotta tell ya: my heart is singing people!
from the LP Born Again, Cotillion Records, 1971
Even though many of us associate the advent of talk-boxes with Peter Frampton’s use of one on his inconceivably famous …Comes Alive set, their invention actually came several decades earlier, and they’d been used extensively across several genres of music before he made the things de rigueur; in fact, as this funky track skillfully demonstrates for us, Frampton wasn’t even the first to use a talk box in tandem with a wah-wah pedal. This slick-ass number from Young-Holt Unlimited deftly showcases both of the gadgets’ abilities and their appeal, adding a layer of jelly-kneed sleaze to the proceedings which couldn’t be generated by anything else, not even if they’d added dirty lyrics in their place. These cats were primarily an instrumental crew, something which certainly limited their appeal to wider audiences, but the confidant interplay makes up for any loss of storyline, in my opinion anyways.
from the LP There’s A Riot Goin’ On, Epic Records, 1971
All of us define the word “family” differently: for some it just means their immediate family members while others include any known connection by blood (no matter how distant or embarrassing), and still others are willing to go farther out in their definitions, counting close friends and, perhaps, even pets (guilty) among their own family affairs. As indicated, I wholeheartedly fall into the latter category, having decided for myself at an early age that blood only meant something if they gave a shit about me, and that I was likely going to be depending on friends as much as my parents or siblings when I envisioned the arc of my life. The reality has wound up being pretty close to the prediction, and had it not been for the compassion, patience & understanding from all the dimensions of my family, I can safely say that yours truly wouldn’t be sitting here composing this post right now. As we prepare to enjoy some good times with the Colorado-based members of our family over the next few days, my thoughts are also with the rest of my family who are scattered about north, south, east & west: mom, dad, Karen, Kristy, Kathy, Dave, Kelsey, Ainsley, Walker, Jessica, Ezra, Stevie & fam, Susie, Lynz, Jeanie, Verratti, Arlie, Whit & Liz, Gavin, Lisa, Serena, Andrea, Starr, Molly & fam, Mama Mac, and all the Olson’s, sure love you guys and miss all of you!!
from the 12” single, Mountain Records, 1983
While many bands who signed with independent labels have enjoyed large-scale success in the rock-n-roll landscape, the same has generally not been true for funk crews, and where DIY rock bands & labels actually increased their reputations by resisting the corporate empire, most of the small funk bands & labels out there proved unable to compete against the financial backing and prowess of the majors. Perhaps this has more to do with the intended audience (i.e. rocks fans being accustomed to digging through the underground for the next big thing, funk fans historically looking to the radio first & foremost), but the reality is that while loads of indie rockers have ascended the ladder of public achievement, often becoming as famous as their major-label peers, throngs of able funkateers have been wholly forgotten by the masses. Sadly, this pattern held true for bassist Aaron Broomfield and his siblings, who even went so far as to open their own record label (the Mountain records of this release); growing up in Miami Beach, Florida imbued Aaron with a real forward-leaning sense of funk, being told by numerous labels and radio station managers that his tunes were too progressive. In actuality, the wax he cut with his brothers & sisters (initially as Broomfield Corporate Jam, then just under Aaron’s name) is some of the dankest space boogie this side of Mars, easily right up there with the kind of stuff Zapp and Mtume were doing around this time. Aaron did an interview with danceclassics.net a few years back and closed by saying this, “…let your minds and your hearts be forever open…these are challenging and stressful times we are living in today, may all of you find truth and happiness in your daily lives…I hope my music will lift your spirit and awareness, and inspire you to do good things for yourself and humanity…” Word!
from the LP My Queen, Hotlanta Records, 1978
Look, up in the sky, is it a bird? Is it a plane? It’s…well, fuck if I know just what in the hell that’s supposed to be---some kind of winged, scantily clad, female afro-insectoid with giant antennae, Ugg boots & a whip…?! Perhaps they have come to bring us the funk… Maybe they’re related to the Thumpasaurus people, like distant cousins or something; in fact, these sentient beings have such a hardcore appearance that one could make a good case for their inclusion in a Blaxploitation version of Star Wars, call it Space Hustle or some equally ghetto designation. In all seriousness, it doesn’t surprise me in the least that the band responsible for this hot mess, Gaston, is from Atlanta; the humidity literally drips from those warped polysynths, trickling down into the heady stew of funk which is the behemoth rhythm section (more cowbell!). All I know is that, if this track is any indication of what life might be like in the distant galaxy from which those creatures hail, sign me up for an exploratory mission to their planet.
from the LP Look Out for #1, A&M Records, 1976
Awwwwww shit! Do you wanna know where the smooth boogie ‘80s really got started? You wanna know about the zone that gave Prince his whole fucking template?? Do you wanna groove your body around and smile ‘til your face hurts??? Well my brothers & sisters, look no further than the altar of the Brothers Johnson: George on guitar and Louis on bass. Slick & polished though this song may be, as was a sizeable chunk of their output, things never sound uptight in the least, allowing for the room to be loose even within the confines of a clean sounding track (some of those props must be equally shared with the producer here, Mr. Quincy Jones). The lead guitar gets kind of buried in the mix, but listen for it, because it’s about as funky & relaxed as they come, and that squiggly polysynth pushs all the right buttons. This song is like a mantra for me here at the Honeypot, striving to be a consistent source of good vibrations, “…I’ll be good to you, good to you, good to you…”
from the 7” single, Seaside Records, 1973
Without a doubt, the Bay Area funk scene has always been prone to many other musical influences, fashioning a healthy range of performers who like(d) to color outside the lines but sought the groove above all things: Sly & the Family Stone, Graham Central Station, Tower of Power, et al. Out of this heady stew came many musicians that never gained the kind of notoriety those listed above got to enjoy, perhaps most unfairly so in the case of the guitarist heard here, one Eugene Blacknell. Now it’s true, I could listen to those four measures after the intro (between 18 & 28 seconds into the track) on a loop for days, probably not even get hungry of suffer from malnutrition thanks to the elephantine levels of FATness resisding in those dank-ass breaks, but unlike many other breaks-tracks that leave much to be desired when it comes to the rest of the song, this funky instrumental number brings some hot shit care of Blacknell’s searing, fuzzed-out soloing (the likes of which sound almost similar to some of Carlos Santana’s bluesier riffing from back then, especially when taken as a whole with the percussion & organ). In the proper, ahem, “state of mind”, this one can really take you there…
from the LP Tim Maia, Polydor Records, 1976
The people of Brazil endured one of the modern world’s longest lasting military dictatorships (officially, between 1964 and 1985), a murderous and intractable regime which attacked creative people as if they were the devil themselves, forcing many to abandon ship for various periods of time, & coercing those who remained into a constant sense of tight-lipped accordance--- well, most people anyways. Some, like Tim Maia, hit the wall of resistance and came back with a different synopsis: fuck it man, I’m gonna be me. Although many Brazilian musicians of this time period sought to incorporate varying styles of popular music outside of the regime, most did so with the intent to keep samba or bossa-nova at the core; well, with Mr. Maia, that went out the door. He was primarily interested in creating a Brazilian version of American soul, flexible to the trends as they progressed (i.e. from outright “soul”, to funky soul, rockin’ soul, and disco-funk, etc…); frankly, his approach winds up feeling like the Doobie Brothers go to South America, and that’s meant as a major compliment. Tim Maia was a publicly avowed pothead, talking up the benefits of marijuana in almost any interview he gave, something which wound up making his life in Brazil somewhat thorny at times, but translates impeccably well in his music; not to mention, there weren’t too many individuals willing to harshly confront Roman Catholicism in those days (or now), “…everybody is the same…’cause there’s no heaven, there’s no God, ‘cause there’s no devil, there’s no hell…you are not better than me, and I am not better than you…” Thankfully, though he suffered through many physiological ailments in his time (diabetes, hypotension, et al.), Maia lived to see the restoration of democracy in Brazil---vivo o João Goulart, and long live freedom!!
from the LP Arthur Verocai, Continental Records, 1972
It’s always an exhilarating experience when you hear a song you’ve never heard before that really rocks your world, and thus, there’s absolutely nothing better for a music obsessive like myself than discovering an entire LP of solid tunes by a previously unknown musician or band, a situation which typically only presents itself a few times a year anymore. This particular album, by Brazilian producer, multi-instrumentalist & composer Arthur Verocai, is so mind-blowingly stellar that it could have been the only great LP I heard all year, and that would have still been enough to sate my appetite--- yes, it’s that good. No two songs are alike, and yet there is a loosely experimental vein that runs through them all (not “experimental” like Throbbing Gristle mind you, but more like investigational and firmly open-minded), weaving bits & pieces of soul, funk, bossa, salsa, jazz, folk, & psych rock into a heady quilt of sweetly melancholic chord progressions and hazy enchanted melodies. Thanks to Bee for the heads up on this one.
from the 7” single, Mesa Records, 1973
As we’ve discussed, one should never presume that a record’s rarity is positively correlated to the quality of said record, but there does seem to be one quirk in that pattern, which is: once you get beyond the $500 mark (for 45s & 12s, maybe $750 for full albums), the high prices are typically speaking to actual demand for the product as opposed to merely echoing its scarcity. Like anything else, there are exceptions within this subtlety as well, but anecdotally I’ve found this to hold water most of the time. One shining example of that theory in practice is this smoking hot 45 (mint used copies have sold for over $600), the breakdown & chorus line of which will be known to any fans of those old mixes from Cut Chemist & DJ Shadow (ala Brainfreeze or Product Placement), but the entire track is indeed very worthy of our praise. A women’s lib anthem for sure, this peppy cut offers us one funky-ass bottom end, but it’s the Hendrix-inspired guitar that blows me away every time; my attempts to unearth some info on these folks were futile, so if anybody knows the good word, let a brother know.
from the 12” single, Free Spirit Records, 1976
Tommy Stewart was one of the smoothest producers around at the outset of disco-funk, and virtually everything he touched still sounds incredible, including this mid-tempo burner from his alias ‘Cream de Coco’ with fellow producer Marlin McNichols. Hailing from Birmingham, where he still performs regularly to this day, Stewart actually taught high school for over a decade before getting involved with music seriously, an unorthodox path if there ever was one, and something that makes me respect this man in a HUGE way; imagine if all (or, frankly, a few) of the sports stars and musicians out there today gave even half a decade of their time to educating the youth! Granted, there’s definitely a sizeable chunk of entertainers I wouldn’t let near my houseplants, let alone my kids if I had any, but you know what I’m saying, in theory. This song nearly blinds you with its silky sheen, like a velvety soft down comforter covering your body and carrying you away, it could easily serve as a how-to guide for aspiring groovy cats: thick breaks, loose bass, wandering synth, shades of brass, and easy to understand instructions, “…let’s go, and do the disco strut…disco, disco…”
from the 7” single, Buddah Records, 1971
With so many media sources telling them where to go, how to act, what to wear & who to like, it’s become increasingly difficult for young people to feel comfortable in their own shoes at any given moment, always plagued with an obligation to perform as life becomes gradually more plugged in 24-7, becoming something like a large-scale reality series. I’m glad to not be growing up in these times, and although they sometimes get on my nerves (what with those skinny-ass jeans making the college halls look like a damn parade of chicken legs…), I can empathize with these kids’ condition---it’s a tough time to be an adolescent. Famed multi-instrumentalist & singer Curtis Mayfield knew that troubling times often left the youth of our nation in the hardest of jams, and in many ways he spent his career speaking to those in need, shining a light for listeners stumbling through the dark; when he tells you to “move on up”, he isn’t speaking literally, dig? “…hush now child, and don’t you cry, your folks might understand ya, by & by; just move on up, towards your destination, though you may find, from time to time, complications…” Take heart my young brothers & sisters, war is not eternal, and neither are the judgments of other people---you are all beautiful. Word.
from the LP Ladies Choice, Montage Records, 1982
Big guns and lingerie seem like too obvious a match, but the combination really sets it off on the cover of this early ’80s boogie LP from Detroit funkateers Shotgun; similar in style and approach to other rust belt funk crews from the era (i.e., Ohio Players, Dayton, ADC Band, et al.), they never had any major charting singles, thus leaving their ample discography to languish. This, the title track to Shotgun’s sixth album, got some decent play on urban radio stations upon its release, but it represents a clear shift away from the heavier funk-rock found on their earlier releases. Admittedly, the cover photo is perhaps more memorable than the music, but this still grooves pretty good.
from the LP Truth and Soul, Columbia Records, 1988
Some bands manage to be so sprawling & wide-reaching in both image and sound that they captivate nearly everyone who gets exposed, a difficult approach that doesn’t always lend itself to getting far beyond your local show circuit, but one that certainly pays off big if you do happen to make it---because everybody loves you. Los Angeles based nutballs Fishbone are a good example of this phenomena (as were their scene compatriots the Red Hot Chili Peppers), encompassing influences from no less than funk, punk, ska, jazz, metal & hip-hop, then congealing those elements into a mildly controlled mayhem that, when digested with an open mind, proved impossible to resist. Seeing these guys live is quite an experience, every bit as fun & chaotically addictive as it sounds, and the brass section only amplifies that playfully uplifting vibe, “…got this feeling, got this feeling, got this feeling from the ocean, yeah, it’s all right…” While internal struggles tore the band apart in the mid ‘90s, there was a time when it felt like these guys couldn’t lose, and it always sounded like they knew it.
from the LP Muita Zorra, Forna Records, 1971
Behind virtually every great singer / songwriter there stands an equally deft backing band, often times great forces in and of themselves, although they rarely get the notice or mention they deserve outside of discussions about the artists they support: Crazy Horse, The E Street Band, The Heartbreakers, etc… Thus, it’s no surprise that Brazilian group Trio Mocotó is almost always mentioned (if at all) as being the backing band for Jorge Ben in the ‘70s; in actuality, these three guys had been jamming together for a few years before Ben ever took them out on tour or into the studio. Their attempts at introducing samba rhythms & grooves into a funky rock template were highly successful, both with Ben and on their own, as they adroitly prove throughout this self-titled LP which fetches about $100 at auctions these days. As someone once declared, “…if you can’t dance to this, you got no business havin’ feet…”!!
from the 7” single, Big Yellow Records, 1968
PBS is the shit people, for real---and no, this isn’t an opinion bred from having no cable, as I have more channels than I know what to do with at this point, it’s about the programming man: where the fuck else are you going to find Sesame Street, Antique Roadshow, and the Grateful Dead movie sitting back to back? Nowhere, that’s where. This song served as the soundtrack to a show of the same name that aired on Boston’s PBS affiliate in the late ‘60s, clearly geared (as was Sesame Street initially) at an inner-city youth audience; although lyrics like, “…shoutin’ loud , feelin’ proud , ‘cause black is beautiful you know… black power’s what we’re talkin’ ‘bout…” may lead one to presume that Stark Reality was an all-black band, they were actually split down the middle: bassist Phil Morrison and drummer Vinnie Johnson were, but jazz guitarist John Abercrombie (yes, that John Abercrombie, who later ruled supreme in the fusion forward ‘70s) and vibes player Monty Stark, who also served as the band leader, were as white as they come. Frankly, apart from a few notable exceptions in the classic rock world, jazz seems to be the only modern medium where black & white musicians play together frequently, a blending of influences that all genres could benefit from, in my opinion.
from the LP Zeca Do Trombone & Roberto Sax, Pirata Records, 1976
With a culture as large and diverse as theirs is, and an economy that just keeps growing & growing, it’s no surprise that everything is coming up roses for Brazil of late, scoring both the 2014 World Cup & the 2016 Summer Olympics. I can certainly enjoy the music of Brazil during any time of the year (in fact, there’s nothing quite like driving through a Colorado blizzard to the sounds of Gal or Os Mutantes), but there’s no denying that summer really gets me blasting these breezy vibes from my home and car stereo more than ever---not to mention, all the Caipirinhas and Dark-n-Stormy’s that such tunes tend to encourage the drinking of! The snappy drumming in this track is a breaks-head’s dream come true, tighter than a virgin at a prison rodeo yet somehow still remaining loose and funky; the brass is sharp as a tack also, and although I don’t know what they are saying (the title translates to “middle column”), that rhythmic style in which the frenzied chorus is dispensed pulls everything together impeccably. Viva o Brasil!!
from the LP …Is Back, Afrodisia Records, 1979
Rejoice all yee who have ears, and worry not about who exactly ‘BLO’ is, just trust in your humble narrator here that their return (from where you ask: perhaps the planet of Bootyism) is indeed a homecoming worthy of celebration! This slice of Lagos funk practically screams roller skates & hot pants, all synthesizers and snappy breaks while they implore all the ladies with a bumpin’ ass to, “…push it up, and roll it, slap it, one and two; I said push it up ya’ll, and rub it together…bulky side, bulky side, bulky backside…” Just when you think things can’t get better, their guitarist peels off some acid-drenched riffs when the bridge rolls around, a trippy antidote for all of the big bouncing booty in our faces; honestly, this track is funktastic perfection, ‘nuff said.
from the LP Standing On the Verge of Getting It On, Westbound Records, 1974
